Shrink to the Weird
by Drex
Summary: Three years after Mike leaves Spike and her first patient is Cory Raines...


## Shrink to the Weird

#### by  
Lisa Y. Drexel

* * *

Mike never believed in dobblegangers until she had the distinct pleasure of witnessing the meeting between two of them.

One dead in her arms from a gunshot wound to the chest; the other standing above her with the said 'smoking' gun in his hand, his green eyes hard, his face desperately trying to remain expressionless as she watched him struggle with the sight in front of him: his twin dying—red blood pouring effortless from the wound he had caused.

Mike cleared her throat. "Just go. Forget about this—and him—and just go," she said, hoping that it would work, but inwardly knowing it was futile.

"How?" His hard, Slavic face cracked momentarily revealing his confusion. "He's human!"

Despite her knowledge of other things—inhuman things—Mike couldn't help her next remark. "Well, duh! Whatcha expect, Count Dracula?"

_Vampires on the brain, girl?_ she asked herself, nervously eyeing the newly dug gravesite that the stranger was standing next to.

He blinked at her, his emerald green eyes studying her and Corey Raines, her client, friend and the Immortal laying dead in her arms. "Dracula?"

Mike rolled her eyes. "Just leave! Forget this! It has nothing to do with you!"

The stranger said nothing as he searched their surroundings—his eyes taking in every detail available. Details that Mike already knew, for she had been here before—this cemetery. To bury friends in her pre-mortal days and now, as an Immortal, because it was Holy Ground. 

_And we can't forget the demon-vamps,_ a part of her snapped.

How could she? That's why she and Corey were there: it was part of his therapy. Even three-hundred-year-old Immortals need to get their head's shrunk and the easy-going thief was no exception. Corey needed to see that demon-vamps were the real thing and not just a product of his desperately grieving mind searching for answers. Because Mike had no idea where any demon-vamps were, she asked Natalie to keep an eye on any conspicuous deaths and sure enough, less than a week later the coroner told of her of this one. 

So, instead of meeting at her office this week, they met at the cemetery. Corey had already insinuated a few times that maybe she was the one that needed psychological help—that there were no such thing as vampires and both of them should be sharing a padded cell somewhere safe. Mike just chuckled in response and asked him to trust her.

Reluctantly he did. So here they were: hovering over a newly dug grave waiting for a monster to appear. Mike hoped once he watched her stake the creature, it would be enough to convince the other Immortal that he wasn't crazy as a loon and what he saw two months before wasn't a mad delusion.

Mike sighed. He was her second client and of course things didn't go smoothly. Nothing in Mike's life or those who were in her circle lives, ever went according to plan. This evening's trip to the local cemetery was to sooth the other Immortal's heart; to begin a process that had been delayed because he was a witness to an act of preternatural deviance. He needed to know that there were stranger things in life than Immortals and the Game.

Inhuman things.

Corey's body jerked and Mike instinctively held the reviving man tighter against her as she waited for his first breath.

It soon followed.

Then she heard footsteps and instantly remembered Corey's twin: the strange mortal that had just shot him. She looked up and watched the mortal as he kneeled down beside them hesitantly.

"Damn! I thought you left!" she whispered to the mortal.

"He's alive!"

Corey saved her from once again going 'duh' for the second time that evening. "So, it wasn't a dream," the Immortal whispered as he pulled away from Mike, sitting up on his own. "I do have a double." He was grinning, looking at the other in total amazement. "In 300 years, I've never met one."

Mike glanced at the stranger, watching his reaction to Corey's revelation while silently wishing she could kill him again for being such an idiot. Just what they needed; a confused, dangerous mortal who now knew of Immortals. But when she watched the mortal tentatively reach out and touch Corey's left arm—his face sporting such a beautiful expression of wonder and awe, Mike found her earlier irritation begin to dissipate. It was then she noticed his prosthesis; the mortal had no left arm.

As that new tidbit of information sunk in, Mike found herself staring at the fake appendage, wondering why it felt so strange to see it. _Too much time with Immortals and vampires,_ she thought to herself. Immortals and vampires were both lucky to have such an accelerated healing rate, that if by chance they were to lose a limb, as long as they could somehow connect the two for a short period of time, their bodies could heal the wound.

Suddenly a picture of Joe flashed through her mind and she remembered that he too had to live with the horror of some of his body being gone. But somehow that was different—at least from Mike's perspective. She doubted if it that was so to him though. But to her, Joe Dawson had always had to prosthetic legs. From the times she had known him as a child growing up, to when she had joined the Watchers herself and now as an Immortal, he always had two prosthetic legs. In her mind—they were synonymous. 

She had never known Joe when he was whole. 

So deep into her own inner musings, she almost missed the all-to-familiar sound of dirt churning, signaling yet another addition to their impromptu party.

The stranger heard it and instantly stood up and on alert. His eyes scanned their surroundings, searching for the source of the sound.

"Show time, Corey," Mike muttered as she stood up and pulled out her sword. The stranger whipped around in time to see the sword and pointed the gun at her, believing she was suddenly a threat. "I'd move if I were you," Mike said, pointing the sword at the mortal's feet, just in time to see dirt-caked fingers poking upwards. 

When he saw the pale, dirty arm of the former college basketball player, his hand dropped. Instead of moving, he just stood there, pointing his weapon at the grave, while staring dumbfounded at another impossibility life decided to show him that night.

Mike felt a rush a wind and saw Corey run passed her and tackle the stranger, leaving Mike to face the vampire, who had quickly risen from his temporary grave.

Squashing the guilt that automatically rose each time she had to kill one of these creatures, she watched as the demon growl while lunging at her. Mike thanked her lucky stars that he was still unused to his animated body as he threw himself on her sword by mistake.

"I hope you're watching this, Corey, because I **so** do not want to be here tomorrow night!" she yelled at the Immortal as she yanked her sword out of the demon's gut and quickly swung it—decapitating the vampire. 

The once hero of St. Louis University Billikens disappeared into a cloud of dust.

Mike sneezed three times in quick succession, cursing the fact that despite her being Immortal, she seemed to be allergic to vampire dust, as she slid her sword back in its scaffold in her coat. Wiping under her nose, she turned to the dobblegangers and saw two identical faces staring up at the spot where the vampire had stood: one in awe and the other in shock.

She could tell by knowing glint in his eyes that Corey now believed. _Good,_ she thought, knowing that this was the first step in his need to grieve for his dead mortal girlfriend. For all the other Immortal's bluster and devil-may-care attitude, Corey was actually a loving, deeply caring guy who had the misfortune of not only running into a hoard of rabble rousing demon-vamps, but also had watched as they drained the first mortal woman he had fallen in love with in over 150 years, killing her instantly.

The crazy, preternatural circumstances of her death drove him to seek her out.

_Welcome to my world,_ she thought to herself. _Shrink to the weird things._

Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the two men and stuck her hand out. "My name is Mike Evans and I believe you have about a million questions."

A smirk curled his lips as he chuckled humorlessly. "You could say that," he said as he took her hand and used her weight to pull himself up. Now she was looking up to face him. "Alex Krycek."

Corey, standing as well, handed Krycek a business card. "Corey Raines. I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got to go to work. Give me a call. That's my voicemail number." He shook his head incredulously. "I've never met my double before."

Corey went up to Mike and gave her a hug. "Thanks Mike. I'll call you to set up my next appointment."

She hugged him back. "It's a deal."

She watched the Immortal walk away, inwardly wondering if she would ever see him again. A part of her doubted it. His healing was now on its way and should follow the normal course of mourning—now that he wasn't stuck on vampires and such.

"So, Ms. Evans, do you always take your dates to cemeteries to kill vampires and then leave with different men?"

She snapped back at the mortal standing in front of her and sighed. "Only the special ones," she said, flashing him a small smile. "Would you believe that I'm a psychologist and he's a patient of mine?"

His eyebrow inched up. "Really? Is this normal for you then?"

"Only when my patient's don't believe in vampires and need a reality check."

"Touché," he said, as he wiped his face with his arm, gun still dangling in his clasp. He looked up at her, his confusion evident. "Ms. Evans?"

"Yes?" 

After nearly a minute of just staring at her, he shook his head and lowered his gun. "Let me walk you to your car."

Surprised, she just nodded and turned around, following the same path Corey had taken just moments before. Not even five minutes later, Mike was opening the door to her Pathfinder, when she stopped and turned around. Just seeing him stand in front of her, both lost and dangerous, tugged at her heart, and she knew she had to do something. "Mr. Krycek?"

"Yeah?"

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out one of newly made business cards and handed it to him. "If you need someone to talk to, call. I am a licensed psychologist and I do deal with weird things. Your reaction tonight tells me that you're no stranger to the weirdness, so maybe I can help. If anything, just to explain how Corey was able to walk away from here tonight."

He took the card and slipped it in his coat pocket, and nodded his thanks. "Good night, Dr. Evans."

Mike blinked at the sound of doctor before her name and then smiled back at the man. "Good night, Mr. Krycek. And a word of caution, if you don't have any wooden stakes, I wouldn't hang around here."

"Thanks."

"No problem," Mike said as she pulled out her keys and started her car, wondering if she would ever see Corey's dobbleganger again or if she really cared. "Another strange night in the life and times of Mike Evans," she muttered to herself as pulled out into the road and headed for Wolf's Bane to meet Vachon. 

What she now needed was normality. Yeah, a night of drinking and bloody sex with Vachon was just about as normal as she could get.

"Oh well, the crosses we bare," she said to herself as she pushed the waiting CD into her player. Seconds later Harry Chapin's, "Thirty Thousands Pounds of Bananas" filtered through the air.

Mike was smart enough to see the irony.

~~~

Ten months later

2:45 am – Thursday morning

Mike's apartment

Mike wasn't sure what it was that woke her. But one moment she was dozing in front of the television in her dark bedroom with her laptop open and on beside her and papers strewed all over around her, and the next she was wide awake. Before she had fallen asleep, she had been in the middle of her own little research party on prophecies and dreams, after Cassandra had called her with the newest addition of her prophetic dream concerning Mike. 

Mike still wasn't sure if she believed that somehow she was the star of some prophecy, considering that there wasn't anything extraordinary about her. But there were enough facts supporting Cassandra's theory to at least force Mike to consider the real possibility of something significant happening to her in the future. 

Before Sunnydale, she would never have believed in prophecies. There were real neat things to talk about over a few drinks, when you allowed yourself to go, 'what if', but in real life, they were hard to swallow. But Sunnydale showed her a whole new world, even more bizarre than vampires or Immortals. A world filled with true evil, demons, werewolves, witches and every other fantastic theory written up in horror novels and fairy tales for centuries.

These things were real.

And if they were real—then Cassandra's, and by proxy, Mike's dreams, could very well be real too.

At least it was worth looking into.

Sitting up in bed, she automatically reached for her sword beside her bed, despite the fact she didn't feel the presence of another of her kind. It was the only weapon she owned.

Then she heard it again.

A creak.

Someone was in walking through her kitchen.

Standing up as quietly as she could, she tiptoed to the door of her bedroom. She knew it wasn't Vachon; he was in New Orleans for the past month—doing a job for LaCroix. Besides, he had fed from her enough in the past three years, that she always sensed his presence. The only other person who had a key to her apartment was Spike, and she would know instantly if it was him.

Nope, she had intruder. 

Reaching for the door knob, she didn't even have a chance to open it, when it swung open, knocking her down on her back. Fleetingly, she wondered if she would ever learn not to stand behind a door—this was the second time one immobolized her. 

_Stupid idiot,_ she mentally cursed herself as she felt a sharp pain shoot through her arm. Someone had just broken her hand, disarming her. Before she could even manage to get her bearings, she felt a body flop on top of her—pinning her down. 

"Shit!" she yelled out, as her eyes snapped open and she tried dislodging her attacker. 

Dark, green eyes stared back at her.

Instantly she thought he was Corey, but remembered she didn't feel his buzz. Krycek. Corey's dobbleganger.

She stopped struggling and bit her bottom lip as anot sharp pain stabbed her wrist. Clenching her teeth, she glared at the mortal. "I said call, not break my hand!"

"What the hell were you doing with a sword?"

"You never called back or you would know!" She squirmed again. "Get off me!" Her hand began tingling and she glanced over to her right and saw the blue flickering of the healing Quickening doing its job.

"What the hell?"

"Watch! You might as well, considering you keep fucking around with Immortals! At least this way, you'll understand why you can't kill them!"

Wincing, she felt her bones knit and the ache in her hand subside. She slowly clenched her hand, happy for once for all those Quickenings she took, because three years before, it would've taken at least fifteen minutes for her body to heal a broken hand. This time, it was done in less than five. "All healed now."

He sat up on his haunches and shook his head in amazement, and suddenly winced. 

Finally free of him, she followed suit and reached for his arm. "Are you alright?" Then she noticed her shirt was wet and glanced down and saw a blood stain. "You're hurt!" 

He nodded and fell back on his butt. "I wish I could heal like you," he said mirthlessly as he shrugged off his coat, revealing an ugly bullet wound on his right shoulder. 

Frowning, Mike glanced at her bed and suddenly cursed her study habits. She would have to clean off her bed first. "Can you just stay there for a second. Let me clean off my bed," she told him as she stood up and scrambled across the room. She quickly gathered the books and papers and tossed them over to the side. She then picked up her laptop and placed it on her dresser, inwardly praying it wouldn't fall off the pile of books she put it on top of. She quickly picked up a few pens and an astray, and placed them on her night stand. Now, the bed was clear.

She walked back over to Krycek and squatted down, wrapping her arm around his waist. "Can you help me out here?"

He nodded and together they managed to get him standing. Within a minute, he was laying on her bed, watching her. "Let me get some towels and see if I have any other first aid in the bathroom. I don't have any use for it anymore..."

"Thanks."

After grabbing some towels, she opened her medicine cabinet and just as she feared, all she had was aspirin for those damn hangovers she still managed to get and some allergy medicine for those times she dusted vampires. "Damnit." She walked back into the bedroom and found that he had taken his shirt off. She sat down beside him and glanced at the phone. "Alex I don't have anything."

He started chuckling. "Figures the only safe place I can go to and I'm going to bleed to death because you're a fuckin Immortal and you don't know first aid."

"I know someone we can call—"

"No! No doctors! They have to report gunshot wounds!"

"I know," she said quietly as she picked up the phone. "Remember, shrink to the weird? I know someone who's a doctor to the weird. You can trust her."

"Who is it?"

"Her name is Natalie Knight. She's a pathologist."

He laughed again. "Another doctor of the dead, huh?"

_More accurate than you'll ever know,_ she thought to herself. "How 'bout it?"

He took a deep breath, biting his bottom lip and nodded. 

Natalie was there within fifteen minutes.

Unfortunately, so was Nick.

~~~

In the four years that Mike had known Nick, she had decided two things about him: she loved his vampire half and hated his cop half. In that order.

As a vampire, Nick enjoyed his new life with Natalie. He still didn't kill, but seemed to accept the benefits of being a vampire a lot easier than she had heard he had done in Toronto. He no longer drank bovine blood, instead procuring his supply from his sire with the guarantee that it was freely given and no one had died so he could live. And LaCroix, happy just to have his son back, easily complied. 

But as the cop Nick—he was, in one word, insufferable.

Every bit of that self-righteous, judgmental, goody-two-shoes part of him that was so dominant in him in Toronto was there, residing as Nick the cop. 

For someone with as bloody and death-filled past as he had, Nick could slip into the cop mode pretty fast and do it so well. It was as if he forgot all the shades of gray that he continually lived with for nearly 800 years and everything would suddenly become very black and white to him.

Especially when it pertained to mortals and their laws.

And Mike could tell by the look on his face, that she was going to have to deal with the cop half that night. It was not something she was looking forward to and silently wished Vachon were with her and he could deal with Nick.

"Who is that?"

"A client, Nick," Mike said as she sat down on the arm of her futon.

"Immortal?"

She snorted. "Hardly. He wouldn't be bleeding nearly to death on my bed if he were, now would he?"

He nodded, his face becoming distant. A moment later, he turned back to her. "What's his name?"

She shook her head no. "I called Natalie, not you, for the express purpose of him receiving medical attention without any questions.

"Drop it, Nick."

The blond vampire began pacing in front of her. "He could be wanted, Mike!" 

She nodded, giving him a small smile. "I'm pretty sure he is."

He stopped mid-stride and glared at her. "Then why the hell are you helping him?" When she didn't answer, he began looking around as if searching for something. He walked over to a blood trail leading from the bedroom and followed it to the kitchen. It stopped at the back door. "He broke in, didn't he?"

"Yes," Mike muttered, rubbing her face. "Just let it go, Nick. I promised him hassle-free health care and I don't break my promises."

"But—"

"Listen," she interrupted the detective. "How 'bout we make a deal? You leave him alone while he's staying here recuperating and once he's well enough to travel and leaves the sanctuary of my home—he's fair game. That way, I'm not violating his trust and he's back where he was prior to coming here—"

"Sans injury."

She nodded once. "Sans injury. So, is it a deal?"

Nick the cop sighed and nodded in agreement. 

_Thank the unnamed gods for small favors,_ she thought to herself, silently wishing for Nick the vampire to return soon.

She liked him a helluva lot better.

~~~

An hour later, Mike was left alone with a list of instructions from Natalie on what to do for her guest in the coming hours and a warning from Nick that Krycek was fair game once he left her apartment.

Sighing, she glanced at the clock on her microwave and yawned. It was nearly five am and she was exhausted. Once she drug her exhausted body into the bedroom, she flopped down in the chair beside the bed and watched him sleep until she herself nodded off.

She was standing in the middle of a dark chamber with only one light visible, which was shining directly on her—paralyzing her. She could feel the looming presence of hundreds of her kind, but as of yet, she had seen no one.

All she had were her senses.

And they were in overdrive. 

Unsure, she searched the darkness around her, hoping that somehow she would see the answer as to why she was here and why they were watching her—but she saw nothing.

But somehow she knew they were observing her—waiting for her to make the next move—as if their Immortal lives depended on it.

"But they do, Michelle," she heard a voice say in the darkness. She whipped around towards it, realizing she recognized it, just as another spotlight appeared. Mike watched as Lucien LaCroix walked into it. "All our lives depend on you. You are the bridge to us."

"You make us whole, luv," Spike said, stepping up to stand besides the ancient vampire.

"Spike," she whispered, feeling her heart leap at the site of her lover—always and forever her lover...

"We are the key."

She turned, her throat catching as she watched Methos step into another light.

"And you are the lock," Cassandra said softly, suddenly standing behind her.

"And she is our salvation," Willow said, as she dropped to her knees in front of Mike, reverently placing her hands on Mike's swollen stomach.

Angel materialized next to Willow, gently holding one of his lover's hands. "She can save us all."

"Or destroy everything."

Mike's head snapped up, searching for that last voice that she had only heard in her mind and Spike's—then she saw Druscilla enter the chamber.

"Dru..."

Instantly everything around her switched. No longer was she standing in a chamber, but somewhere else—on land. The darkness around her had evolved. No longer was it just there, it had become an entity—cloying and suffocating. She could barely stand, for the wind was harsh and loud and strong. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she realized she was standing on a barren hilltop and all around her was littered with the dead and mutilated. Blood was everywhere. Mike wiped her wet face and glanced at her hand. The red liquid throbbed death...it was then she realized it was raining blood...

Mike screamed, her large stomach cramping as she collapsed onto the saturated ground.

This was Earth—more horrific than anything she had ever thought possible...

And it was her fault—

"Doc! Wake up!"

A warm hand slapped her arm, causing her eyes to snap open. And then she heard it: screaming.

It didn't take her long to realize it was her doing the screaming.

She barely registered the concerned green eyes as they met hers. "Oh fuck!" she whispered hoarsely as she stumbled out of her chair. "Fuck...fuck...fuck," she murmured, as her mind's eye flashed upon the decomposing bodies—dismembered and decomposed and mutilated all around her.

And the smell—she would never forget the smell.

"Fuck."

Her stomach lurched and she ran to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before she lost what little was left of her dinner from the night before. 

Nearly five minutes later, after the dry heaves finally stopped, she shakily stood up and managed to make it to the sink. Leaning against the counter, she began taking deep, cleansing breaths, in a futile effort to stop her heart from racing out of control. "Fuck," she whispered as she looked up into her reflection and saw the pale, nearly ashen reflection of herself staring back at her. 

She shut her eyes and took another deep breath.

And another one.

Finally she found the strength to reach for her toothbrush and the toothpaste. After a few tries, she coated the bristles with the tooth gel and managed to direct the hand holding the implement into her mouth.

After that, habit took over.

_Thank the gods,_ she thought to herself. _After forty years, I've finally got reflexes._

"Doc? Are you okay?"

Mike stopped, toothbrush still in her mouth as her heart flittered uncontrollably off the scale once again. _Who was that?_

Then she remembered the previous night's events.

Alex Krycek was recuperating from a gunshot wound in her bed.

Her heart beat slowly dropped down to safe levels.

"What a fucking time to have a new dream," she muttered to herself as she splashed some cold water on her face. Grabbing a hand towel off the rack, she began drying her face as she walked back into the bedroom. "I'm fine Alex."

Then the phone rang.

_Cassandra._

It had to be her. Ever since her visit, three years before, the Immortal Witch always seemed to know when Mike would have a new dream, and would call her up a few minutes upon Mike awakening.

Most of the time, Mike thought it was a pain in the butt and intrusive as well. She welcomed now.

Shooting her guest a nervous smile, Mike walked over to the nightstand and picked up the phone on its third ring. "Cassandra?"

"Mike, are you all right?"

She couldn't help herself; Mike started laughing quietly while shaking her head no. 

"I took a nap and had another dream—"

"So did I," Mike whispered as she sunk into the cushions of the chair, ignoring the strange looks she could feel Krycek giving her. She took another deep breath and finally looked up to see him staring at her; concern plastered all over his face. "Can you hold on a sec?" She covered the mouthpiece. "Are you alright?"

He shrugged his good shoulder and chuckled lightly. "Other than recovering from a near heart attack—just fine. Why do you ask?"

Her eyes closed as the guilt flowed over her. "I'm sorry," she said, once she opened her eyes. "It must've been the stress of last night. I tend to have nightmares when things aren't kosher." She stood up, about to go into the living room.

"Nightmares? A bit of understatement, if you ask me. I'd say they were night terrors."

She shrugged apologetically. "I'm going to take this call in the other room and when I'm done, I'll come back and answer what I can."

He nodded, his face drawn and tired and then shut his eyes.

Mike sighed, hating this situation and finally just turned around and left the room to talk to Cassandra. She'd deal with him later.

~~~

Once he heard the whispers of her talking in the other room, Alex Krycek opened his eyes. His heart was still racing and without much effort, he could recall her screams of terror that woke him from his drug induced sleep. At first, he had thought he was back in Russia and that he was hearing himself scream when they took off his arm.

But unlike him, who had passed out from the pain, her screams went on and on. 

Even after being Mulder's partner and listening to him wake up from his various nightmares, didn't prepare him for this. 

And here he thought he could find peace.

The irony was rich.

But she was deceptive—this psychologist—Michelle Evans. On the outside, she seemed so normal—so unlike the type of people he had to deal with in his life—that in his mind, he found himself separating her from the life he led.

That's why he came here.

Her seemingly naiveté combined with her apparently compassion and easiness with what she termed, 'the weird,' made her the perfect candidate to go to when he needed a place to hide out at while he healed. 

But that nightmare seemed to indicate that the woman had a lot more heavy stuff going on than he had first suspected.

He chuckled silently at that thought. Hadn't she surprised him continually since their first meeting nearly a year before?

Vampires. Humans returning to life. What was it she called herself? An Immortal?

He didn't know if he believed in Immortals per se, but he did see her wrist heal nearly instantaneously—almost by magic—right before his eyes. And he did distinctly remember the energy field that surrounded her while the healing was taking place.

That was not normal.

And if there were Immortals, where were they when the Rebellion needed them? A human assassin could only do so much, as obvious by last night's bullet wound to his own shoulder. 

Although Earth had been spared the Colonization by the aliens, there were still enough clones and morphers out there to keep the Rebellion busy for years. Krycek had no idea how many people were out there—doing cleanup like he was—but he was killing at least one target weekly. Sometimes they were clones or shapeshifters, other times his targets were humans that were collaborators—left over by the mostly destroyed Syndicate.

With only the alien Rebels and occasionally some of his more discreet contacts, he had been killing for nearly three years straight now.

Just killing.

So many lives.

His only salvation in his mind, was that most of them were alien and he was 'saving' the world. But the deaths still hung over him—like a black curtain of damnation. 

A silent siren taunting him with his nebulous fate.

He groaned outloud as the ache in his shoulder deepened. The pain pills had lost most of their effectiveness once he was shaken from his sleep so horrendously. Adrenaline did wonders for one's metabolism.

He was just so tired. 

Not just physically, but emotionally as well.

His whole life had been spent in preparation of Colonization. The training—studying—fighting—the killing; all for the survival of the 'Event' and afterwards.

No one expected it to be thwarted before it actually began. And the nagging question of his future loomed over him as if it were viper, ready to strike. If he managed to survive this 'clean up' detail, what next?

He'd long ago burnt all his bridges for a normal life. He was wanted for treason in both his homeland and adopted country. He'd never be able to have a normal life—no 2.5 kids or picket fence. Hell, he'd never even been in love. Didn't have the time or dare to allow himself such a tie.

Wincing, he heard footsteps and looked up at the door to see his hostess standing there, silently watching him.

"Nat left some pain pills. Said you'd be ready for one by now. Are you?"

Biting his lip, he nodded and watched her disappear once again.

A minute later she returned with a tall glass of water with a straw in one hand, and one pill in the other.

"Open wide," she said, grinning as she placed the pill on his tongue. She held the glass up to his mouth, angling the straw so it slipped into his mouth. As he closed his lips and sucked on it, he heard her joke, "One happy pill to the rescue." 

He couldn't help but agree.

Once he swallowed, he fell back onto the pillows behind him and finally asked what he had been dying to since he had first met her.

"What exactly is an Immortal?"

She placed the glass on the nightstand and sat back down on the chair. She pulled her feet up, and hugged her knees, frowning. "If I tell you, you have to promise not to say anything. So Alex Krycek, can you keep a secret?"

It sounded so weird, someone not involved in the same things as he, asking him that question. But then, she had no idea his whole life had been one big huge fucking secret, did she?

He chuckled mirthlessly. "If you only knew, Doc."

"Doc?"

He shrugged. "That's what your card said. 'Dr. Michelle E. Evans', right? And I bet, the E stands for Elizabeth, right?"

She rolled her eyes and nodded. "Right on both counts. But you can't blame me for still feeling like a waitress. I did that a helluva lot longer than I've been shrinking heads."

So uninhabited. Definitely not a woman who took herself too seriously and yet, he knew instinctively that they were going to tread on some very serious topics. Another loose piece of the puzzle. "Yes, I can keep a secret," he said and found himself yawning.

_Damn medicine,_ he thought to himself. _Just when I was going to get some answers..._

She frowned at him. "How 'bout I make you a deal. You can sleep now and when you wake up, I'll tell you all the sordid details of my existence and afterwards, if you feel comfortable enough with me, you can tell me your story." She gently placed her hand on his forehead. "Deal?"

His eyelids suddenly felt very heavy and sleep, which seemed so faraway such a short time ago, was more than just appealing—it was a necessity. He nodded yes slowly. His last thought before succumbing to the darkness that was calling him was he hoped she was one to keep her promises. 

He had to know.

Somehow it was important.

~~~

Three days later

10am

Dressed and ready to go, Alex Krycek sat at Mike's kitchen table and watched as she poured him a cup of coffee. 

He was leaving in less than an hour.

Mike insisted that he leave during the day, but didn't tell him why. He could guess: vampires. It seemed that Immortals weren't the only beings that she associated with on a regular basis. Although she didn't get into too much detail, saying it was for his own good, she did tell him that they were more than one kind of vampire.

The first kind, the one he saw in the cemetery with her and his double, Corey Raines, was called a demon vampire. He didn't know if he actually believed in demons, but he did see the boy's face before he became dust on his own grave. It was not a normal, human face.

The other kind looked much more like humans—which enabled them to live at least in the fringe of society. But other than that, Mike didn't say much more.

Apparently they were pretty protective of their privacy.

But he did see the doctor again, the one Mike called Natalie, who was supposedly a coroner for the city of St. Louis, and he remembered the cool feel of her fingers as they touched his skin. 

That coldness could not be easily rationalized away—it was the middle of July in St. Louis. 

And the doc's air conditioner was set on 82 degrees. He knew that too, because he asked later on. And he also met the coroner's husband, Nick, who also happened to be a detective for the SLPD. 

He was too pale to be normal.

Krycek hadn't survived this long because he was stupid. He could put two and two together. Nick, the vampire who was also a cop, was suspicious of Krycek. Mike protected Krycek the best she could—by insisting he leave when the vampire was helpless to do anything.

Alex really liked Mike.

It was hard to believe that this woman who was no sitting across from him was actually older, not younger than Alex. Krycek was nearly 35 and felt every bit of his age. He even had the few gray hairs and creaking joints to prove it. Here Mike was, dressed in a sundress, long, golden blond hair, looking every bit of maybe 25 years old, and she was in actuality, five years older than him. 

What was it that she said? 'When I was thirty—I looked like I was 25. So when I died, I still look like I'm 25.'

He sipped his coffee and watched as she wrote down something on a piece of paper. Leaning a bit forward, he read two names which had phone numbers beside them.

She slid the paper across the table to him. "The first one, Joe Dawson, I've known the longest. He and my father were friends for years. He's a Watcher for the Immortals. Those are the ones that either research us, clean up after us, and/or follow us." She shook her head and pulled out a cigarette from the pack beside her and lit it. "The second name, Rupert Giles—his job is a bit more on the strange side. His group of Watchers—the original Watchers—were and always have been destined to train and guide the Slayers. They deal with the really weird shit—like demons, magic, vampires—you get the picture. I actually think you'd be more at home finding a spot with them—but they're more closed than the others." She shrugged and tapped her ashes into the ashtray. "I'll call both of them and tell them about you and then, the rest is up to you."

He nodded as he folded the paper in half and stuck in his back jeans' pocket. "Thank you." He had decided that this was his last job. No more killings for him. Let them find some other poor schmuck to spend his life killing aliens and whatnot. For the first time in three years, Alex Krycek had found hope.

And he was damned if he was going to let it slip away.

Granted, he may never have those 2.5 kids or picket fence, but at least he could fight for another cause—just as important as the last one. No, Earth may not be taken over by aliens, but if what Mike had said was true, it could be run over just the same.

And wasn't that what he had been fighting against most of his life?

Like Mike had said, it seemed too perfect for him to just it let go.

He finished his coffee and stood up. He walked over to her and held out his 'hand'. She took it and stood up. Walking together, they stopped at her back door. "Remember, be careful. Someone maybe watching my place."

He nodded, silently noting that she didn't say who, but could guess. He grinned at her. "Careful's my middle name. If it wasn't, I'd have been dead a long time ago."

"Yeah, that and luck."

He laughed. "Yeah that too." 

She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek and cupped his chin. "Be careful and good luck. Oh yeah, any messages for Corey?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I'll call him. I promise. Now that I know he isn't some proto-clone of me or something. That really fucked me up."

She chuckled softly. "I'll bet."

"Thank you again, Doc. You were great. You're the best shrink to the weird I've ever seen."

"I'm the only shrink you've seen."

"Got me on one." He leaned over and kissed her chastely on the lips. "I'll call or write or something and let you know." He opened the door and stepped outside. He turned back. He wanted to say something else, like 'you saved me in more ways the one' or 'thanks for my life', but he couldn't. Not only was it too corny—it was too much. Instead, he gave her a big smile and blew her a kiss. Before she could do anything in response, he turned and left.

Once he reached the back gate, he stopped and looked back. Standing in the doorway, holding her long hair in one hand, off her neck, stood a woman that gave him something no one had ever given him before—hope. Plain and simple hope. He waved at her, using his prosthesis, quickly memorizing everything about her and then turned back to the gate. 

He left before he lost his nerve.


End file.
